


I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair

by PervincaViola



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Back to Winterfell, F/M, Fluff, Half-Sibling Incest, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PervincaViola/pseuds/PervincaViola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squeezing her under the heavy blankets of wool and fur, Jon whispers to her in the dark. «We will return to Winterfell, I promise».</p>
            </blockquote>





	I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair

**Author's Note:**

> Autor's note:
> 
> Hey! This is the first time I try to translate one of my fanfic and I have to admit that I'm a bit worried about the result :3 Well, English is not my mothertongue and I think you'll probably find some mistakes in this text and I'm sorry for that ç.ç
> 
> Anyway, this is a What if/AU in which Jon had saved Sansa (maybe I will translate also the previous fanfic, who knows) from Ramsay and they come back to Winterfell! I hope you enjoyed it and I would be very grateful and happy if you will be so kind to review and tell me what you think about my experiment! Thanks to SilverySparks who is my beta!
> 
> See ya!

 

 

# I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair

 

The only thing of which she is certain is that she belongs in the North. It is a knowledge that has always been inside of her, between heart and soul, but Sansa realized it only when they snatched her life and her home. She noticed it in the south, under the rays of a hot and distant sun kissing the bloody steps of the Temple of Baelor, while her father was being forced to his knees; it was confirmed on the day of her marriage, when she should have become a Lannister and the crimson cloak of her captors had settled on her shoulders with an iron grip and she would have rather died than knelt.

Now Sansa knows that the south is death: wolves belong in the North, the Starks in Winterfell. In a better life, the lord her father would sit on that ancestral seat, and Robb after him. But Robb and her father are dead, her brothers are lost and Winterfell is only the shadow of the fortress it was before: In a better life, this would be different.

The snow falls, cruel and silent and for Sansa remembering the beginning of the story is almost impossible. There was a time when sadness was caused only by Arya's mockeries and jokes of their brothers, when she believed in the words of a blond prince and in honey ballads that the singers sang before the fire of the great hall. There was a time when war and winter were only the echo of distant songs, sung in the innocence of summer. But the prince soon transformed into a monster, the tune has become a dirge and she has learned to her sorrow that the fearless knights of whom so much is said in the songs she used to hear as a child do not exist in reality. She learned that there is nothing glorious in a murder cloaked in beautiful words.

And now that winter has arrived, the words of lord Eddard ring truer and closer than ever: when the snow falls and the white storm winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Yes, her brothers are dead, but she has found a pack: Jon, together with Ghost. Without them, she would now have a second husband, more beautiful than the first, of course, but also more cruel: the eyes of Ramsay Bolton, like the ones of his father Roose, were as dark as a starless night, cold as the snow that covered Winterfell.

And it was Jon who rescued her from the murderers of her brother and from the poisonous promises of Littlefinger, who led her to Castle Black, _safe_ , after all this time. It's Jon who escorts her to the library of the fort, where his brother Samwell Tarly - fat, gentle and clumsy - asks her to help him to bind books so old that they crumble into dust in her hands, and he smiles as he teaches her.

It's always Jon who accompanies her to the presence of Stannis Baratheon, the man who led the assault on Winterfell, and his adviser, the Red Woman, a beauty so provocative as to appear otherworldly.

«Your father was a honest and fair man, lady Sansa, and no one could ever deny your brother's courage» begins Stannis Baratheon and Sansa finds him cold, austere and unyielding as the Wall behind him. «But your brothers are dead and now you're the key to the North. Do you understand what I'm saying?» he continues, and she senses the implications behind his words: the lords of the North have always been loyal to the Starks, hostile and suspicious of everything definable 'south'. Most of the houses have not forgotten the terrible end reserved to the Young Wolf, especially the House of Mormont , as Jon reported it to her with a smile, does not recognize any king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. She understands that the king come from that far south needs her, her name and the support of her land, to win what belonged to his brother Robert, the Iron Throne.

This, Sansa thinks, this is the man my father died for. _He is the rightful king_. And as these thoughts cross her mind, along with the idea that this man could avenge to all the blood her family had shed, there is just one answer, confirmed by Jon's slight grip on her shoulder: «What shall I do?»

 

* * *

There are many nights when waking up in the stifling dark still scares her. Sometimes she dreams of Robb and Grey Wind, sometimes of Bran and a raven black as ink, but most of her nights sleep is filled with nightmares: monsters looking like stags and lions, figures clad in shadow, marked by the emblems of malicious mockingbirds and atrocious skinned men.

However tonight the dream is different. It is Winterfell that Sansa dreams, the castle of the Starks, the happy home of a lost time. She had thought she would not see it anymore, not in the soft and carefree colors of her childhood, resounding with the laughter of six children of the North, born in summer heat. Because winter has arrived and she has forgotten how to dream. What she has learned, however, is that disenchantment and the hypocrisy permeate the spirit of knighthood, just like the Hound always said.

Jon is now next to her, and he is not a knight, and he will never be: He has become the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and it's just black, the only color that belongs to him. Yet Sansa's hand instinctively seeks his, grabs it with fear, her eyes open in the darkness and a melancholy smile cutting through her lips. He, too, is part of that past and he reminds her every day, relentlessly. The features of his face, severe and yet able to relax in warm smiles, are what most reminds her of their father, loved and betrayed in the name of a feeling she believed to be true love - the silly illusion of a little girl in love with the idea of love, nothing more.

Yes, even Jon was part of that past, and yet he has managed to get into her mind, saving her from a marriage that went against everything the Starks stood for. He rode for miles in the rigor of a blizzard and fought for her, holding her in an embrace that for the first time in years had filled her with warmth, making her feel at home.

«Thank you» she whispers, moving a dark lock away from his forehead. «Thank you very much».

They are all that remains of the Starks, Sansa thinks that as she watches the face of the sleeping Jon in the semi-darkness of the room. They share the same bed, because it is the largest and ,ost welcoming one in Castle Black, Jon told her once, but the truth is that she did not want to sleep in a strange room alone, not again, and he read it in her eyes. Maybe once all this would have embarrassed her, indeed - Sansa smiles - it is certain that it would have done so; but that time is over, and now she is grateful that she has her brother - not half-brother, no longer - to hold her in his arms. Blood unites them, blood is the strongest bond in the world, and now she is almost able to comprehend what ties Cersei Lannister to her brother Jaime.

Like every night, Ghost is dozing curled up in front of his master's bed, close to the last embers of the dying fire. His fur catches the glow of the fire and Sansa likes to think that his white fur turns grey, almost a reflection of the color her direwolf Lady's fur once was. It's this comparison that draws her out of bed, her bare feet moving silently over the cold stone floor, until she is kneeling beside the albino direwolf. His eyes open slowly, blood-red lights amidst the white: Ghost observes her soundlessly, ears raised. He is much bigger than Lady, more alert and lonely, but the softness of his fur the same as, Sansa finds out when her fingers dig into his scruff, stroking his ears and his long snout. It is hot, as hot as the underground springs of Winterfell, as hot as the castle greenhouses, as hot as Jon's embrace, just like him the wolf reminds her of a past life. And it would be so stupid to weep now, now that she has finally found someone for whom it is worth to smile and to rediscover in herself a little of the old Sansa, yet salty tears weigh down her lashes, making the world appear blurry. If she had been less blind and she had told the truth, the day Nymeria attacked Joffrey to defend Arya, Lady would still be alive; if she had told the truth, many things could have been avoided and perhaps the story would have seen a different ending. Instinctively she buries her face in the wolf's fur, stifling a sob. _I'm sorry_ , she thinks, _I'm so sorry for everything_.

The direwolf raises its nose and she inhales deeply, savouring the smell of forest and snow, indulging herself in the memory of the dream, the dream where her home was filled with all her brothers and six wolf pups running in the snow.

«He likes you» a hoarse voice whispers next to her and the young Stark turns her head, meeting Jon's grey eyes – he moves as silenlty as Ghost, she notes. «He always has» he adds, scratching the direwolf just below the ears, and a memory of a small white direwolf sneaking quietly into the rooms where she and other girls were practicing the art of embroidery pops up in her mind .

«I want to go home» she says with a poignant melancholy. Castle Black is no more her place, as than King's Landing and the Eyrie.

Jon puts a hand to her face, with a touch of his thumb breaking the wake of a silent tear that has escaped her eyelashes. «You will soon» he assures her, brushing her crimson hair with his fingertips. «Remember what Stannis Baratheon said? You are a Stark and the key to the North: All the lords are gathering in your and our father's name to fight the Lannisters».

She nods with all the conviction she can scrape together, shivering in the cold air. He puts an arm around her waist which feels rather hot, and he pushes her gently onto the bed, while the pleasant warmth spreads to the mouth of her stomach. Feeling the mattress sag under their weight, Sansa snuggles against Jon's chest, savouring in the warmth of his body, as he kisses her hair.

Squeezing her under the heavy blankets of wool and fur, Jon whispers to her in the dark. «We will return to Winterfell, I promise».

 

* * *

Almost every moon cycle black crows arrive from the south, announcing the results of different battles: The support for Tommen Baratheon is getting weaker and weaker and even some of House Tyrell's bannermen are abandoning the cause of the Lannisters, deserting in favor of Stannis Baratheon. The victory of the burning stags is closer than ever.

But the war is far away, Sansa's role in history is seeing its end, and all that matters is that she has found what she had lost and what has been denied her for too long: her home. She is the key to the North and the North remembers: Many lords loyal to House Stark used a lot of their resources to rebuild the castle of Winterfell, after its destruction during the siege.

The Godswood, the place so precious to Lord Eddard, is one of the few areas of the castle that have survived the sack of Winterfell and the destruction of the Boltons. Somehow, staying in the shade of the Heart Tree gives her the impression of being closer to Robb, her father, her mother and Lady. Often she goes there and, after a long time, Sansa resumes praying. Rumors have reached the king, and he has sent his Hand to search for her brother Rickon, in order to thank her for the support she gave him during the war. The letters of Ser Davos Seaworth are sporadic, penned with the shaky handwriting of a child, but he writes that he is on Rickon's trail and that he will find him in White Harbor, or perhaps on the island of Skagos. Sansa begs the gods to let the old knight find at least her youngest brother, so innocent, and to let him bring him home. Because the pack is all that matters, a lone wolf can-not survive, not when winter is still far from over.

Kneeling in the snow with her hands clasped, Sansa smiles as she regards the milky bark and the scarlet leaves of the Heart Tree, eternal and immutable. Suddenly, she hears muffled footsteps behind her.

It is, paradoxically, Jon, Jon Snow, who more than anything else reminds her of who the Starks were. In his face she sees again the quiet strength of their lord father, in his sword there's the audacity of Robb and his eyes reflect Arya's restlessness, Bran's sweetness and the stubbornness of little Rickon. To remember her lady mother, she needs nothing more than a bronze mirror, a reflection of her blue eyes and her own red Tully hair. Maybe the pain is slowly slipping away, for it does not hurt anymore to think of them.

«It could have been yours» she states, standing up and turning her head to face him. «Winterfell, along with norther lands and the Stark name. Lady Melisandre told me that you refused the king's offer».

«I did» he confirms quietly, perhaps surprised, but without regret in his voice or in his eyes, and a spontaneous question escapes from her lips. «Why?»

«Because Winterfell belongs to you» he says honestly, not a trace of selfishness in his grey gaze. _He always knew what his place was, since we were kids_ , considers Sansa, remembering that during the party to welcome King Robert and his court, the day it all began, he turned away without a word. And suddenly it seems to her so wrong, so absurd that snow, the symbol of their land, has marked Jon's life so deeply. Jon, who has more of a Stark than any Karstark or Umber.

«It belongs to both of us» she corrects him instinctively, entwining her fingers with his, Sansa can see that Jon feels the apology hidden in her words, an apology for not having understood before how important a part he plays in her world; she sees it in the glow of his eyes, in the soft fold of his mouth. _We belong to Winterfell_.

 

That morning the leaden sky promises snow and the cold air caresses her hair, making it look like tongues of fire dancing in the wind; Jon's hand is a light and reassuring weight on her back. She is aware that he can-not stay here forever, because the Wall always calls to her crows. Still, Jon says that perhaps the new king will allow the Wildlings to settle in the North, in the lands closer to the millennial wall of ice, and that when the war is over, there will come a day when the black brothers are released from their oath. And that day, she is certain, Jon will return to her - _home_.

Sansa looks to the foggy horizon and then at the profile of her brother's face, and she smiles. Jon is a winter key too, even if he doesn't know it: He's a wolf, the only animal able to withstand the ferocity of the snow, and he will lead his men through the storm, as he has found the way to get up to her. As a child Sansa was silly and childish, but now she understands that his name is not important, what counts is the blood and the blood flowing in him is a wolf's.

Thanks to him, astonishingly, she has found herself again, and now she can let go of all the pain suffered through intrigues, lies and darkness;.Now, looking inward with Jon at her side, she sees a Sansa she had thought , so introverted and quiet, so different from anything she thought she had come to love. It's a moment until Sansa realizes that she does not want anyone else, that she would not want the fascinating Loras Tyrell there by her side, nor any other knight, because it was Jon who saved her, just like a knight in a song. The thought makes her smile almost with sadness.

«All I wanted was to go south, to discover the world of songs» she admits, alluding to a past so near yet so far away, looking down on the snowflakes that have begun to fall lightly onto the bodice of her dress. «Do you remember the bard who stayed with us for almost a year?»

«Yes,» answers Jon, smiling slightly at the memory of a little girl with long red braids that used to melt in tears and sighs for the sweetest love ballads. «You used to listen to those songs several times a day».

She shakes her head. She wept bitter tears the day the singer left them, while her father comforted her with hugs and kind words. «I wanted to...» Sansa stops, flooded with memories, chasing ancient thoughts. «Be happy. But what any of us wanted ceased to matter a long time ago, right?»

Jon watches her in silence for a few moments. «But we're here now» he says finally, and suddenly the young lady sees that Jon grown up, but so has she; both grew up too quickly and now they are left with painful scars on their skin, some deep, some invisible. «And it is only thanks to you» he adds. _Key to the North_ , Sansa reminds herself, _winter key_.

«We're here now» she repeats, and there is no other place where she wants to be. She has always belonged in the North, the same way wolves belong to the ice, and from now she will never doubt it again. She knows, now, that the life at King's Landing was an illusion destined from the beginning to vanish like snow in summer.

«Thanks to you» Jon says again, embracing her. «I love your hair» he murmurs between her bronze waterfall hair and then he kisses her fingers, delicately, and in this tender gesture she sees once again all the similarities to their father.

«I love _you_ » she responds, and suddenly Jon's lips are on her own and she feels like she's on fire. He kisses her gently, his touch is lovingly and finally, finally, she feels at home.

 


End file.
